Thirteen Years in a Cloven Pine
by Adiva Calandia
Summary: PROSPERO: Dost thou forget from what torment I did free thee? ARIEL: No.... -- And what was that torment, anyway? Based on The Tempest. Pain involved.


While writing this, I realized that I didn't know Ariel's gender. Uh oh. Well, I mean, it's like Puck, isn't it? Neither really have gender.... of course, Shakespeare probably considered both of them male, since that would have made the most sense in his time period. But these days, the parts are often cast as female. I, personally, want to play Ariel. So what's an author to do? Currently, I'm alternating gender every line. Which will either get really confusing or make a lot of sense. So, pay attention, and everything should be okay.

  
  


* * *

"Foul thing!"   
  


Ariel crouched, panting, as Sycorax lifted her staff. "Wilt thou still refuse thy duties?"

  
  


Ariel painfully lifted his head. "Aye, witch - for thy works are evil, and I will have no part in them. Vile sorceress! Let me go, torment me no more!"

  
  


The witch raised her staff and brought it whirling down to point at the spirit. Ariel screamed in pain. As Sycorax raised the staff again, smirking at its effects, the sprite could hear an insane giggle behind her. Caliban, Sycorax's monstrous son, was delighting in the torment of his mother's servant. Ariel gritted his teeth and looked towards Caliban.

  
  


"You too, monster," she croaked. "I shall be revenged on you, too." He tried to rise and approach the thing, but Sycorax's wild screech stopped him.

  
  


"Thou dar'st threaten my son! Ungrateful wretch!" She approached, grim. "For that, I shall make thy life into a hell. Thou shalt beg for my mercy, but none shalt thou find. Begone! I cast thee into a prison of pine, bound within the gnarled trunk."

  
  


Ariel paled. "Nay - nay, mistress, I beg thee!"

  
  


But in vain. Sycorax raised her arms and shouted words of power, summoning a whirlwind. Ariel attempted to cling to the rocks below, but they offered little help. 

  
  


An pine tree standing nearby, bent and twisted, gave a loud moan. Sycorax's chanting grew to a fever pitch as the trunk split open. The winds plucked at poor Ariel's body, until she could stand it no more. He let go the rocks and was carried, like a leaf, into the tree. The trunk shut with a horrible clap. The winds died down. Sycorax let her arms fall, exhausted, but exhilarated. She marched to the tree, Caliban following close behind, skipping with glee.

  
  


"How now, spirit? Dost like thy new lodgings?"

  
  


A tormented howl wrenched itself from the pine. "I pray thee, mistress, let me out! Let me free!"

  
  


Sycorax laughed. "Nay, servant. Thou'lt stay in there 'til one of greater power happens on thee. Stay, and suffer, and remember Sycorax!"

  
  


Laughing madly, the witch and her son left the clearing. A tortured wail, like the wind, but worse, followed them.

  
  


* * *

Ten years later.....   
  


Caliban, now a young man, misshapen and wicked, trudged into the clearing, his face set in a frown. The constant wailing that filled the isle echoed around the stark rocks. He stumped up to the pine tree and rapped on it loudly.

  
  


A cry was heard from within as the pine tree increased its grip on the imprisoned spirit, then Ariel's voice spoke, quiet with wordless pain. 

  
  


"Ah, Caliban, you have come at last. Where is thy mother?"

  
  


"My mother lies dead," snarled Caliban. He did not say it in any words we might have used, but in grunts and growls, like a beast. Ariel heard and understood, however. He laughed quietly.

  
  


"She is dead? She clung to life like a barnacle to a ship. Perchance some sailor has come along and scraped her off."

  
  


Caliban shook the tree, and Ariel cried out. "Be quiet! She is dead. And I care not what will happen to you, now. I shall retire to the other side of the isle, where thy howling shall not disturb me and ever remind me of my mother. I hope that thy tree will wither and die, and you with it!"

  
  


He turned and loped away. At first, Ariel rejoiced at the thought of never again needing to look on that face. But then doubts slipped into her mind. If no one remembered poor Ariel, what would become of him? Would the spirit fade away into nothingness?

  
  


"Caliban . . ." She called, softly. There was no response.

  
  


"Caliban!"

  
  


Ariel struggled within the tree, and the pine, disturbed, squeezed tighter. Ariel moaned and set to wailing again, in despair and fear and pain.

  
  


* * *

Three years passed. Ariel and Caliban still lived. The few sailors who passed by the isle marked it as an evil place on their maps, for the wind wailed constantly there, and a monster was said to roam the shores. They would stop into Milan, the closest port, and tell stories and shudder.   
  


It came about that the Duke of Milan, Prospero, and his daughter, Miranda, a mere child of four, were cast onto the sea by the Duke's brother, Antonio. The winds heard the crying of the babe and gently blew the fugitives' vessel to shore on the supposedly-curséd island.

  
  


The leaky boat crunched softly into the sand and gravel beach. Prospero looked about warily as he comforted Miranda. An unearthly wailing reverberated around the rocks enclosing the bay. Miranda sniffed and looked into her father's face.

"Papa, the wind howls so!"

  
  


"Shh, shh, my darling," soothed Prospero. "We shall find us out a shelter, away from the wind, and then it shall bother you no more." He stepped out of the boat, cradling Miranda in his arms, and slung their few belongings over his back.

  
  


By some miracle, Prospero found a dry cave a few minutes after Miranda had fallen asleep. He stepped inside, judged it as good a shelter as he was likely to find, and made Miranda a bed out of clothes. He built up a small fire by the mouth of the cave, then stepped outside.

  
  


"Rocks!" He cried, and raised his arms.

  
  


A labored groan answered him.

  
  


"By my art, I do command thee to keep safe that which lies within!"

  
  


With a rumble, the boulders lying around the cave's mouth rolled together to form a doorway. Prospero regarded it for a moment, then gestured. A few small rocks broke away from the top, forming a smoke-hole. The magician nodded, satisfied, and set off to trace the wailing.

  
  


* * *

Sycorax's spell still lay on Ariel and the pine tree. When Prospero had come ashore, the spell sensed it, and increased Ariel's torment, so that she would be too senseless to notice the magician and give him some sign. But Sycorax and her spell had not reckoned on Prospero's powers. He easily found the source of the howling.   
  


Ariel knew nothing of the magician outside his prison. Over the last thirteen years, the spirit's world had shrunk to include only the knots and grain of the wood, and the ever-present pain and pressure. She knew that Sycorax was dead, and Caliban was far out of reach. He vented his rage by howling, struggling against his bonds.

  
  


So it was a shock when the pine tree, with a shriek nearly as piercing as Ariel's own, split in two and released her into the world. Ariel tumbled out, crying out in surprise, and lay prostrate on the rocks, panting. Somehow, some way, someone had released him. The spirit was free.

  
  


"So this is the cause of the wailing that so frightened my daughter!" Said a deep voice above her. The faintest hint of a laugh tinged the voice.

  
  


Ariel looked up. A man, who seemed impossibly tall from this angle, was gazing down at the sprite with a smile on his face. Ariel pushed himself up to his knees to look at him better.

  
  


"Art thou" - she paused to take a deep breath - "thou'rt my rescuer? Thy power broke the spell?"

  
  


The man nodded gravely.

  
  


Ariel bowed. "Grave sir!" He cried. "You have freed me from inimitable torment, set upon me by my former mistress, the witch Sycorax. Ariel thanks thee; a thousand times, she thanks thee!"

Prospero smiled. "Thy name is Ariel?" The spirit nodded. "I am Prospero, Duke - Nay, once Duke of Milan."

  
  


"I am in thy debt, great sir."

  
  


"Th'art indeed. Thou canst repay me by entering my service, for I have need of one such as thee."

  
  


Ariel looked up, troubled. "Be thy servant? For how long, sir?"

  
  


Prospero considered. He was thinking of Miranda. He knew not how long they would be on this isle. Finally he asked, "How long were you imprisoned in that tree?"

  
  


Ariel shuddered. "For thirteen long years, sir."

  
  


"Then for thirteen years, thou'lt serve me and mine."

  
  


Ariel hesitated, mouth working. He did indeed owe this man a great debt. But to go from thirteen years in a prison to thirteen years of service?

  
  


There seemed to be no other choice. She smiled, somewhat haltingly. "Be it so, then, my master."

  
  


Prospero smiled back. "Then arise, sprite!"

  
  


Ariel jumped to his feet. "What's your will, master?"

  
  


"Come, follow me, and I shall tell you . . . ."

  
  


The magician turned and set off for the shelter, for he was concerned about Miranda. Ariel paused for a moment, looking around. The pine tree that had imprisoned her lay cloven on the rocks. His former mistress was dead, and - while not yet his own master - he was free.

  
  


Ariel was free.

  
  


Skipping and turning cartwheels, Ariel followed her new master towards a new life.

  
  
  
  
  
  


FIN.

  
  



End file.
